


A Very Sterek-y Christmas

by anotherfangirlshipper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU Sterek, Christmas sterek, M/M, fluffy sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfangirlshipper/pseuds/anotherfangirlshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few little fics about Derek and Stiles and Christmas time. (AU)<br/>Newest story: "Damn it, Stiles. We are not getting those for my house."<br/>"But Derek, they're perfect," Stiles laughs, holding up the string of Christmas lights shaped like wolves.<br/>What starts out as a simple trip in which Stiles attempts to convince Derek they need some cheesy Christmas decorations takes a turn for the worse when they run into none other than Derek's malicious ex, Kate Argent. Stiles decides he needs to do something to shut her up, and quick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Three Times in One Night

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea yesterday; so I'm planning to do a few little fics like this about Stiles and Derek around Christmas time. Each chapter will be a separate situation, with different versions of Stiles and Derek for each one. Most, if not all, will be AU. But yea, here's the first bit of Christmas-y Sterek, and I swear, it'll get more Christmas-y than this in other chapters.

Derek hears a loud thud from the apartment next door, then a “shit, goddammit” follow soon afterwards. It must have come from Derek’s new neighbor. He just moved in last week, so Derek doesn’t know his name, but he has noticed that his neighbor is in fact pretty cute.

The loud noise he just heard is kind of a cause for concern. Derek walks over to the wall of his apartment, the one that connects to the apartment next door, and presses his ear to it. He hears a groan, then there’s a short pause, and then a muttered “stupid fucking dumbass tiny weak ass ladder.”

Derek bites back a laugh; the guy next door seems to be just fine. He goes back to his kitchen area, and picks up the bowl of gingerbread cookie dough.

Every year when Derek was younger, he and his mom would bake Christmas cookies. They would shut the door to the kitchen, and keep everyone else in the family from entering for the two whole days before Christmas. Derek’s mom always said that fresh cookies tasted better, so they would wait until the last minute to make them. For those two days, the rest of the family would eat takeout or go out to eat, but Derek would stay with him mom in the closed off kitchen, and bake. They would make every single type of cookie imaginable. Chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, peanut butter, shortbread, gingerbread, sugar, snicker doodles, and at least five other kinds. Derek’s mom knew all the recipes by heart, and one by one, Derek learned them too.

When his parents died, Derek stopped baking at Christmas. It wasn’t the same without his mom, and to be frank, it made him sad baking cookies without her around, or his dad to eat them. But after a while (nine and a half years, to be exact,) Derek decided that he would bake Christmas cookies every year so that he could keep that connection with his mom, whether she was by his side or not.

He’s on his third batch of cookies right now, he’s already knocked out the sugar cookies, which are cooling and almost ready for frosting, and he finished the chocolate chip cookies in record time. The gingerbread is just about ready to roll out, so Derek puts the bowl back on the counter, and reaches up into the cabinet for the flour to roll the cookie dough out on.

He sprinkles the flour across his counter, and scoops the gingerbread on top of it. He pats some flour onto the rolling pin, and right when he picks it up to start rolling, Derek hears a knock on the door.

“One second!” he calls, before going over to the sink to wash his hands. Derek grabs a kitchen towel, and dries his hands as he walks to his door and pulls it open. Someone topples forward and Derek barely has a chance to grab their arm and steady them.

It’s the cute guy from next door.

“Ha,” Derek says, “falling for me already? We just met.”

Derek immediately smacks himself internally for saying something so cheesy. _What the hell did I just say_? he wonders. _Where did that even come from?_

“Crap, sorry,” says the guy, completely ignoring Derek’s idiotic remark, thank God. “I was leaning on the door and I didn’t think it would open so quickly and then it just opened and I totally lost my balance and wow thanks for grabbing my arm, I was going down like a chopped tree, that would’ve left a bruise.”

“No problem,” says Derek, smirking at the guy for his little ramble. He’s cute; Derek has to admit it again, with his fluffed up brown hair and little moles on his face and neck, and his festive green and red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“I’m Derek,” he tells the guy, holding out his hand.

The guy takes it, and shakes his hand.

His fingers are soft, and really, really warm.

“I’m Stiles,” he tells Derek, and Derek cocks his head at him.

“Don’t ask,” Stiles grimaces. “Horrible first name, Stilinski is my last name, so Stiles it is.”

Derek nods, understanding.

“So what did you need Stiles?” he asks, testing out the name in his mouth. (It flows smoothly off his tongue, and Derek smiles at his observation.)

“Oh, yea, that,” stammers Stiles. “Well actually, I was hoping… do you think…. you could maybe…” He pauses, and Derek waves him to continue.

 “Doyouthinkyoucoulddrivemetothehospital?”

Stiles speaks so fast Derek has to strain to distinguish separate words. It takes him a second, then it hits him.

“The _hospital_?” Derek asks, “are you alright? What happened?”

“Well,” starts Stiles, “I would drive myself, but it’s my ankle….” He trails off, and Derek, for the first time, looks down at Stiles’ feet.

He gasps.

Stiles’ left ankle is swollen to three times the size of his right one, and it is black and purple.

“Oh my god,” says Derek. “Come in, sit down, that looks awful!”

“Thanks,” Stiles says dryly. “I didn’t notice.”

“No, I didn’t mean-” starts Derek, but Stiles is laughing.

“I’m kidding man, sorry, sarcasm is my best friend. But yea, a seat would be nice.”

“Do you need a hand?” Derek questions, (while filing away in his mind the information he just learned about his new neighbor) but Stiles shakes his head.

“I’m okay, just lead the way,” he replies.

Derek waits for Stiles to come a few feet inside his apartment, and then shuts the door behind him. He then leads Stiles to his couch, which is in his living room, next to the kitchen.

Stiles plops down on the couch, and lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m getting you ice,” Derek states, then goes over to the freezer for an ice pack, which he wraps in a towel and gives to Stiles.

Stiles can barely reach to his ankle, without twisting his body in an awkward position, and after a few failed attempts he looks up at Derek with his big brown eyes, and Derek knows in a second what Stiles needs.

“Here,” Derek says quietly, sitting down too. “I’ll hold it.”

Stiles smiles, and lifts his foot onto Derek’s lap.

“But only for a little while,” continues Derek. “Then I’m taking you to the hospital, and you can tell me what happened on the way.”

“Deal,” says Stiles, and he hands the ice pack to Derek, who gingerly places it on Stiles’ swollen ankle.

“Tell me if it hurts more,” says Derek, and Stiles nods, before looking around.

“Wow, what smells like Christmas?” he asks.

 “They’re cookies I made.” Derek tells him.

“Well you know what might help my ankle?” asks Stiles, a smile on his face.

“If you say cookies, I swear I’m gonna…” Derek trails off.

“Cookies!” Stiles exclaims, smiling even wider.

Derek shakes his head and chuckles. He reaches over to the table, and grabs a couple warm chocolate chip cookies, before putting them on a napkin, and handing them to Stiles.

“Oh my god these look incredible, thank you!” Stiles all but screams, and Derek shakes his head at the overenthusiastic guy sitting with his foot in Derek’s lap.

The overenthusiastic _cute_ guy sitting with his _foot_ in Derek’s _lap._

Stiles munches on the cookies while Derek holds the ice, and the apartment is bathed in silence.

After about five minutes, Derek puts the ice on the table, carefully moves Stiles’ foot off of his lap, and stands up.

“Come on,” he says, “we really should get that ankle looked at. And on the way there, you can tell me what happened.”

Stiles sighs.

“Fine,” he says, with an air of defeat, stumbling awkwardly to his feet. “It’s really embarrassing though.”

“Now I have to hear it,” Derek says, and Stiles frowns playfully at him, before hobbling to the door, which he opens and steps into the hall.  
“One second,” Derek calls, before grabbing his wallet and car keys, and turning off the oven. The cookie dough can sit on the counter; he’ll just make another batch later.

After getting in the elevator, (“no way are you going down three flights of stairs,” Derek had told Stiles, who had stubbornly started heading to the staircase.) Derek and Stiles stand in silence. Stiles is shuffling around, obviously in pain.

Derek offers his arm to Stiles, who wraps his own arm around it, and leans heavily on Derek.

They make it to Derek’s car, which is (thankfully) parked right outside, and Derek opens the passenger door and helps Stiles get in before getting into the driver’s seat himself. He drives in silence for a few minutes, and then coughs.

“I believe you own me an embarrassing explanation of your current condition,” he says, and Stiles groans.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “It’s the least I can do.”

Derek wants to smile, but that would be rude because Stiles is in pain.

He smiles anyway at Stiles’ reluctance, and Stiles starts his story.

“Okay. So because it’s Christmas, and I just moved in, right? I wanted to hang up some lights in my apartment! To make it all festive!” he begins. “There are already hooks up in the apartment, so I didn’t have to do any of that, but when I got out my lights, I realized I had nothing to stand on to reach the hooks.”

“Uh oh,” Derek interjects, and Stiles makes a _yea man, seriously_ face at him.

“So I decide to look around in the apartment, right?” continues Stiles. “And guess what I found in a closet? A ladder!”

“Oh no,” says Derek, who thinks he knows where this is going.

“Oh yes,” says Stiles. “I mean, sure, it was a dusty old ladder that looked like it had seen better days, and sure, it looked like it was missing a few pieces, but who am I to judge a book by its cover?”

Derek snorts. “When the book you’re judging is a ladder that looks like a death trap, I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to judge.”

“Okay, maybe” sighs Stiles, “but the point is I didn’t judge, and I decided that ladder would be the rusty old ladder who could. So I huffed and puffed and dragged it to the other room, and set it up, and it was the perfect height to hang the lights, which I had wrapped around my neck, by the way, for optimal access...”

Derek snorts, and then almost veers into the opposite lane of traffic from laughing so hard.

“You. Had. A. String. Of. Christmas. Lights. Wrapped. Around. Your. Neck.” He states slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hey, it was a good idea at the time!” Stiles defends himself.

Derek laughs again.  

“So you had the lights wrapped around your neck… and then what?” he asks.

“So I get to the top of the ladder, and right when I’m reaching up to put on the first part of the strand of lights, it gets a little tangled around my neck, so I’m working to untangle it, and the ladder…the thing just folds, like a house of cards. And not only did I fall like four feet to the ground, but my left ankle got caught in between two of the rungs when the ladder closed, so it folded on my ankle while I fell.”

“Ouch,” Derek says, wincing. “No wonder your ankle looks the way it does. That has to be a bad sprain, if not a small fracture.”

“Oh, yea, tell me about it,” says Stiles. “But anyway, there’s the incredible story of how I’m an idiot and I possibly broke my ankle trying to decorate for the holidays. Merry frickin’ Christmas.”

“Technically, it’s not Christmas yet,” Derek points out, and Stiles scowls.

“It’s a couple weeks before, close enough,” he grunts in frustration, and Derek smirks.

They pull up outside the emergency room, and Derek helps Stiles inside. They go up to the counter, and luckily, there are only two people ahead of them.

Stiles gets in within the first fifteen minutes of them being there, which is a Christmas miracle in in of itself, and comes out on crutches ten minutes later with his ankle wrapped in an ace bandage.

“Sprained,” he says, coming over to Derek, a bit unsteady on his crutches.

“Well that’s good,” Derek says, standing up. “At least it’s not broken.”

Right as Stiles approaches Derek, he gets one of his crutches caught on the rug in front of him, and goes pitching forward.

Derek grabs him before he can fall.

“Falling for me again?” he laughs, “That’s twice in one night.”

Derek straightens Stiles’ crutches and leads the way out the door, smiling.

He doesn't see Stiles’ ear to ear grin, and he doesn't hear the whispered “maybe” in response to his rhetorical question.


	2. Wolf Lights and Gingerbread Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Damn it, Stiles. We are not getting those for my house."  
> "But Derek, they're perfect," Stiles laughs, holding up the string of Christmas lights shaped like wolves.  
> What starts out as a simple trip in which Stiles attempts to convince Derek they need some cheesy Christmas decorations take a turn for the worse when they run into none other than Derek's malicious ex, Kate Argent. Stiles decides he needs to do something to shut her up, and quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter, because I was in a writing kinda mood today! :)

“Damn it, Stiles. We are _not_ getting those for my house.”

“But Derek, they’re perfect,” Stiles laughs, holding up the string of Christmas lights shaped like wolves.

Derek frowns at Stiles, and Stiles looks at him with a little grin on his face.

 _He will so say yes to these,_ Stiles thinks. _I’ll convince him._

“No,” Derek repeats gruffly, before taking the cart and pushing it down the aisle.

Stiles watches him, smirking. Derek looks so out of place, pushing a half full cart down the red and green Christmas themed aisles of the supermarket.

The pack decided (all of an hour ago) that they wanted to go all out for Christmas this year, and had nominated Stiles and Derek to go shopping for the decorations for Derek’s loft.

“Stiles should go because he’s more creative-” Stiles had snorted at Scott for saying that earlier.

“Yea, Scott,” Stiles had replied. “More like you’re too comfortable to get your lazy ass off of the couch, and you’re too warm to send anyone else from the pack away.”

Scott, Scott, Alison, Lydia, Isaac, and Kira had all been crammed together on the couch, under two huge blankets. Stiles had gotten up for a split second to go to the bathroom, and that was when the pack had made the “decision” to send him and Derek to the store. More like they all didn’t want to move.

Derek was nominated first, because it is his loft after all, so he should have some say in what goes in it.

Stiles was the second choice, to his annoyance.

Not that he minded going with Derek, because, well, he really didn’t, it was more the fact that he had to go outside when it was like, 30°F out.

He had grumbled out to the car, but when Derek stopped and got him a hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream, Stiles stopped his complaints. (Derek had been boring, as usual, and got a tea.)

And now they’re in one of the two Christmas aisles in the only supermarket in Beacon Hills that still has an abundance of decorations so close to Christmas.

Derek already has two packs of plain white Christmas tree lights in their cart, and a tin door sign with a smiling Santa saying “Welcome!!” on it. It had been like pulling teeth to get Derek to agree to get the door sign, but when Stiles had succeeded, he felt a rush of adrenaline, and immediately wanted to see how far he could push Derek in terms of decorations.

(The wolf lights aren’t actually an attempt at this, believe it or not. Stiles just thinks they’re actually pretty damn cool. And you know, the fact that they’re going to hang them in the loft of an actual _werewolf pack_ makes them even better.)

Stiles follows Derek down the aisle, still holding three packs of the wolf Christmas lights.

Along the way, he grabs some neon pink tinsel, some puke green tinsel, and a huge yellow star. He figures if they’re really going all out, that means a tree, and where there’s a tree, there has to be a star on top. (The tinsel will just be another way to test Derek’s resolve. After all, no way in hell is Stiles buying _neon pink_ or _putrid green_ colored tinsel.)

When Stiles reaches Derek at the end of the aisle, he sees that Derek has only added a small box of ornaments to the cart. They’re white, and shaped like snowflakes, with glitter on them. _They’re actually really pretty,_ thinks Stiles.

Derek looks up at Stiles as he approaches, but when he sees what’s in his hands he starts shaking his head.

“No way, Stiles.” He spits out. “No. Way. We are not buying that tinsel. That tinsel is going nowhere near my loft. That tinsel should be burned.”

There’s a short pause, and then.

 _“Are you colorblind?”_ questions Derek, and Stiles bursts out giggling.

“What?” he asks through his gargled laughter. “Why would you ask that?”

Derek shrugs.

“I was hoping you might be,” he says, “cause then you would have an _excuse_ for picking such horrible colors.”

He smirks, and pushes the cart to the next aisle, while Stiles is left sputtering.

 _So that’s how he wants to play,_ thinks Stiles. _Well, I’m always up for a game._

Stiles dumps the horrifically colored tinsel back on the nearest shelf, but keeps the star and the wolf lights because he _will_ be getting those lights in the cart before they leave, he’s sworn an oath to himself.

Stiles walks to the end of the aisle and goes to turn into the next one, but drops the lights and the star onto the ground as he crashes into Derek, who’s standing there not moving.

“Whoa,” says Stiles, “excuse you.”

Derek doesn’t respond, or move, so Stiles takes a second to look at him. His hands are clenched around the cart, so hard that Stiles can see veins popping out on his forearms. His jaw is set, and his glare, murderous.

Stiles feels goose bumps pop up on his arms underneath the fabric of his blue flannel shirt, and for an instant, he is reminded of just how dangerous Derek can be.

Derek has killed people.

And it honestly looks like he could kill someone right now.

“Derek,” Stiles says hesitantly, looking at his face with concern. “Are you oka-” 

He’s cut off by someone calling Derek’s name.

And Stiles understands in an instant, without even turning around to see who it is.

He can recognize Kate’s voice when he hears it, that’s for sure.

“Hey Derek.”

Her voice comes nearer.

Stiles finally turns around, and there she is.

Kate Argent, dressed all in black with red lipstick, her long hair loose on her shoulders.

She’s arm in arm with a guy who has to be at least six two. His dark hair is buzzed short, and that, combined with his square jaw is meant to look intimidating, Stiles supposes, and it works. It really works.

“How are you,” Kate purrs, looking Derek up and down with a smirk on her face, before leaning over and kissing the guy she’s holding on to. Stiles can tell she takes pleasure in making Derek uncomfortable, and he’s disgusted by it. Especially after what she put him through when he was younger.

“I’m fine,” Derek chokes out, and Stiles gets even angrier. How dare she come in here and fuck with Derek, after all these years. He, for one, isn’t going to stand for this bullshit. He’s part of Derek’s pack, and pack means sticking together, and standing up for each other.

“Did you _need_ something, Kate?” Stiles spits out from his place at Derek’s side.

Kate’s eyes flicker to him, and so do the eyes of the guy next to her, and Stiles shakes off the shiver he feels from both pairs of eyes piercing into his skin.

Kate laughs. “I see you’re still hanging around teenagers, Derek,” she says. “Can’t you get any friends your own age?”

Derek stiffens, and Stiles is boiling on the inside. Derek is only like, five years older than Scott and Stiles, so fuck Kate for acting like Derek is hanging out with children. Besides, he’s a legal adult, so she can piss off.

“Look who’s talking,” Stiles retorts, before Derek can open his mouth. (Cause you know, the whole Kate and Derek thing. And now that Stiles thinks about it, that may not have been the best thing to say around Derek. Oops.)

Kate opens her mouth, and then closes it again.

And Stiles smirks.  

“Wow, Derek,” says Kate. “I see you have your own guard puppy. When did this happen?”

Kate’s words set off a lightbulb in Stiles’ brain, and he either is about to do something that will get him killed in an instant (by Derek,) or will work out fantastically.

Stiles hopes for the latter.

Derek frowns, and Stiles takes the opportunity to slip his hand into Derek’s.

Derek’s whole arm stiffens, and he moves like he’s going to pull away, but Stiles has his hand in a death grip.

“Actually, it was our seven month anniversary last week,” Stiles says, plastering a cheesy grin on his face.

Kate’s jaw drops.

Stiles makes his smile grow, and spares a quick glance up at Derek.

His face is blank, and Stiles heart starts beating really fast, and he can feel his face heating up.

 _Shit,_ he thinks, _this was an awful idea._

Stiles’ heart thumps painfully a few more times in his chest, and it’s so loud he’s sure even Kate can hear it.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispers.

He looks up at Derek, and sees his ears twitch.

Then the corners of Derek’s mouth start to curl up, and in the span of five seconds, Derek is smiling.

Derek is _smiling._

It’s a full on smile, and it reaches his eyes, and they’re crinkling at their corners.

Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek look so happy, and he can’t help but smile even wider himself.

Then, faster than Stiles can comprehend what’s happening, Derek has crushed Stiles to his side, and wrapped a (muscular) arm around his waist. Low on his waist.

Low enough that Stiles feels another shiver run up and down his spine, and this time it’s not from fear.

Kate is staring at the two of them, and she looks unbelievably unimpressed.

Stiles looks at her, and she looks back at him.

“Oh _sure,_ ” she sneers, “I’m sure _Derek_ is in a _healthy_ relationship, and for _seven_ months, no less.”

Stiles blinks.

“Tell me another _joke_.” She continues.

And Stiles snaps.

Without thinking, he turns to Derek, grabs the back of his neck, and with all of his might, tugs Derek’s face down to his own, and clashes their lips together.

 _Derek tastes like gingerbread_ is the first thought that pops into Stiles’ head. The second is _I like gingerbread._

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, thinking he’ll look like he’s having a romantic kiss, but really he’s too terrified to look Derek in the eyes.

 _I’m dead,_ thinks Stiles. _I’m so dead. So. Dead._

To his surprise, Derek doesn’t shove him off, or snap his neck.

Instead, Derek wraps both his arms around Stiles’ back, and pulls him even closer.

Stiles lets out a squeak as their lips part for a second, and then Derek pulls him back in, kissing Stiles hungrily.

Stiles locks his hands behind Derek’s neck.

 _Derek’s scruff feels nice_ is the only thought that pops into Stiles’ head at the moment.

After what seems like ten years, but was probably only about twenty seconds, they part, and Stiles is blushing even harder than before.

His heart is beating about ten times faster, too.  

Stiles doesn’t dare to look up at Derek, but he does look at Kate.

She looks like she’s eaten a pound of lemons, and Stiles laughs out loud.

Kate opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Stiles cuts her off.

“Fuck off Kate,” he says, then high fives himself mentally.

_Four for you Stiles. You go Stiles._

Kate lets out an annoyed growl, and then stomps off, dragging the guy with her.

And Stiles and Derek are alone at the end of the aisle.

Stiles can’t stand another second of silence, so he grabs the cart and turns it around.

“We’re pretty much ready to go, yea?” he says, mostly talking to himself.

He picks up the wolf lights and the tree topper star that he dropped on the ground when he crashed into Derek earlier, and dumps them in the cart, before speeding down the aisle towards the cashier.

He starts loading everything onto the counter, and when the guy is scanning it all, he reaches into his pocket to pay.

_Shit. His wallet is at the loft._

“That’ll be $41.92,” the cashier says, and Stiles swears in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I think that I left my-”

He’s cut off by a familiar voice.

“I’ve got it,” says Derek, sliding in front of Stiles and handing the man some bills.

Stiles steps aside while the cashier rings up the purchase and bags their things, then he grabs all the bags and walks quickly to Derek’s car.

When he’s there, he realizes his dilemma, but before he can open his mouth to ask Derek for help, Derek is there, opening the trunk for him.

“Thanks,” Stiles says quietly. After putting the bags away, he gets into the passenger seat, and waits.

Derek gets in a few seconds later, and they sit in silence for a while.

“I’m sor-” Stiles starts right when Derek says

“Thanks.”

“Wait. What?” asks Stiles, baffled.

“Thanks,” says Derek. “I froze back there, and you saved me the embarrassment of facing Kate while barely coherent. I owe you.”

“So that was okay?” Stiles squeaks. “I was hoping you weren’t taking me back to the loft to kill me.”

Derek lets out a deep laugh, and Stiles relaxes a bit.

“Stiles, it’s fine,” Derek says. “That was actually pretty smart.”

“Why thank you,” Stiles replies, his chest puffing up a little bit.

“You could work on the kissing a bit though,” Derek continues with a straight face, and all the air puffs out of Stiles in annoyance.

“Whatever,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Derek chuckles.

They drive back to the loft in silence, and get out of the car.

Derek pops the trunk to unload the bags, and Stiles figures Derek can carry them in since he carried them earlier.

Stiles is a step away from the building’s door when he feels a hand on his arm.

Derek’s mouth brushes his ear.

“I meant it earlier,” Derek murmurs. “You should work on the kissing.”

Stiles holds his breath.

“Need some help?” Derek asks.

“Please,” Stiles breathes.

So Derek pins Stiles to the outside of the building, and leans down, locking their lips together.

 _“Guys!!!”_ groans Scott. “I came down to be nice and help carry up the decorations, and _this_ is what I come out to?”  

Stiles laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks again for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
